


The Best Cinnamon Crunch Muffins

by overused_underrated



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Bakery and Coffee Shop, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cutting, Depression, Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Help, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Hating Crowley (Good Omens), Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overused_underrated/pseuds/overused_underrated
Summary: NaNoWriMo - Day 4CW/TW: self harm, depression, cutting, scars, past traumaAfter the not-calypse, Crowley and Aziraphale finally have a chance to tackle their own inner demons. When a young boy enters their coffee shop, Crowley uses his past trauma to help relieve the isolation and loneliness of this young man.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 133





	The Best Cinnamon Crunch Muffins

It had been a number of years since the not-calypse happened. Crowley and Aziraphale were on their own side- left alone by their superiors, unwanted and unloved. Neither of those mattered, for they had each other. That was enough for them.

That being said, things weren’t picture perfect; they both had major issues. Crowley suffered from depression and PTSD and Aziraphale battled anxiety, low self esteem, and slight dysmorphia. After six thousand years, the two  _ finally _ had a chance to get some therapy and begin to heal. Their lives had not been kind, and they hadn't been kind to each other. It took time for their walls to come down. Slowly, but surely, they did.

After several years of therapy, both Aziraphale and Crowley were in far better mental states, and they were together. The two were happy- genuinely happy. Crowley ended up selling his flat and helped convert the bookshop into a greenhouse-coffee shop. Aziraphale expanded his shop upwards to keep his books safe from potential  _ customers _ , and Crowley had a chance to show off his most prized possessions- his plants. It was a good set up.

The shop did well. Customers enjoyed the pleasantly green atmosphere and the rich house roast. The angel and demon happily worked side by side: brewing, pouring, and serving anyone who’d join them. June was quickly approaching- the sun lingered longer in the sky. The shop was always satisfyingly warm, with a gentle breeze. It was as if the shop had captured a perfect summer day. 

Crowley was cleaning the empty tables when a young boy came in. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen; he quietly sulked into the shop, bringing a chill with him.

“Welcome to Eden’s Gate- what can I get for ya?” Crowley chimed. 

The boy looked up. His face was pale and puffy. His eyes were red.  _ He must have been crying. _ “Can...can I have a hot chocolate, please?”

The demon smiled. “Of course, young man. Why don’t you take a seat, hmm? Anywhere you’d like.” Crowley walked back behind the counter and began working on the boy’s order while he took a seat at a table. “What’s your name?”

The boy was silent for a moment. He answered softly, “Wyatt.”

“Wyatt, huh? Pretty cool name. Tell me, do you like muffins?”

His brow furrowed, confused at the question. “...yes?” 

Crowley nodded. “Good. My friend, Aziraphale, makes the best cinnamon crunch muffins,” he said, carefully removing one from its display case and putting it on a plate. Crowley, plate in hand, grabbed the hot chocolate and headed to the young man. “Here, on the house.” He carefully set the plate in front of Wyatt, who remained still. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“You’re very welcome. Want whipped cream?”

Wyatt shook his head. “No, thank you.”

The demon nodded. “Do you mind if I join you?” Wyatt, again, shook his head 'no', taking a sip of the hot chocolate. Crowley say across from the young man, watching him drink. Wyatt smiled, just a bit, as the cup left his lips. “How is it?”

“Good.” Wyatt was not short for words.

Crowley could feel the loneliness in this boy’s heart. It was dark and sad; it called out to Crowley like a long lost friend. “Wyatt, can I ask? What brings you here? No school today?”

The boy hung is head. His voice was soft, aching. “No...I didn’t go today. Doesn’t matter.” 

“Doesn’t matter?” Crowley begged to differ. “School is very important, young man. Why would you think it doesn’t matter?”

This was not a conversation Wyatt wanted to be having. There wasn’t much else to do, his house was empty. Was being scolded by another adult better than being alone with his misery? “No one cares...about me. Mom forgot about school. ‘S fine…” He didn’t dare look at man before him. Instead, he found a friend in the chocolate swirling around in his mug. 

Crowley’s heart panged. “That doesn’t sound fine to me. I care…” he said, reaching out his hand. Wyatt looked at his hand and returned his gaze to his cocoa. “Wyatt..I know I’m just a guy in a coffee shop, but you can talk to me. Look,” he said, guestering around the room, “it’s just you and me. You can speak freely here.” An olive branch. Sanctuary. Freedom. That’s what Crowley was offering- all he could do was hope the boy would accept it.

Wyatt looked up, eyes wet and red. “It’s all so... _ hard _ .” His tears fell quickly, soaking his face and shirt. Crowley grabbed onto his hand, moving his sleeve just enough for him to see marks. Fresh ones. 

“I know, Wyatt. Tell me.” Crowley’s voice was pleading. Begging for the truth. For a way to connect. A way in. 

The boy spoke between sobs. “M-my dad’s gone...Mom’s always working...Gran hates me...school sucks..” Crowley held his hand tight- as tight as he could. He wanted to be a rock that Wyatt could anchor on to. “I...I don’t want to be here...I don’t want to do  _ this _ anymore.” Wyatt shook his arm, the one Crowley was attached to. 

The demon let the young man cry. The shop was locked- no one else would be served today. No other patron was as important as Wyatt. When the boy calmed, Crowley slowly and gently pulled up Wyatt’s sleeve, exposing his scarred arm. 

“It’s..it’s not what it looks like…”

Crowley shook his head. “I know.” It was then that the demon rolled up his own sleeve, exposing his forearm and he laid it next to Wyatt’s. 

The boy looked through burning eyes, shocked. “...you too?” Crowley’s arm was scarred from burns over the years. Aziraphale had gifted Crowley the purest holy water Heaven could make. A few drops of that and he’d be missing an arm. Crowley was a dastardly man- especially to himself. Years before Aziraphale caved, Crowley had gotten a small dropper bottle of common church holy water. A simple blessing from a young priest. Nothing compared to the angel’s gift. Over the years, Crowley had developed some  _ very _ bad habits- ones that only fueled his depression and made his mental health worse. He blamed himself for things beyond his control, letting the guilt run amok in his brain. As a way of punishing himself, Crowley would burn himself with the low-grade holy water. It wasn’t enough to do any serious damage, but his physical body was burned. He never once had discussed this dark pastime with Aziraphale. The demon simply miracled it away whenever they were together. A minor price to pay for both of their comfort. Now- Wyatt needed Crowley’s truth. 

Wyatt sat in awe at the demon’s arm. Crowley took a deep breath. “When I was younger, I felt unloved. From my Mom, my siblings, my friends...I thought no one could love someone as lowly as me. I...did stupid things. I hurt myself because...because I thought the pain was better than the emptiness inside me.” Crowley looked into Wyatt’s eyes. “You don’t need to hurt yourself to heal.” 

Wyatt continued to cry, holding onto Crowley for dear life. The demon shed a few tears with him; he stood and wrapped Wyatt into the biggest hug he could. 

“Your life is worth living. Only you can do that.” The words fell from his mouth in soft, meaningful whispers. “You matter to  _ so  _ many people. You matter to  _ me _ .” Wyatt clung to the demon. Never before had someone not only acknowledged his pain, but validated it. Crowley saw the boy as he was- hurt. Not broken beyond repair. 

The two talked over the next few hours. Together, they established a plan of action to tell Wyatt’s family and start the process to help get him set up for a successful road to recovery. Crowley walked the young man home and held his hand as he confessed his painful truth. The demon agreed to cover the cost of his therapy, on the condition that Wyatt would become stop by the shop at least once a month so Crowley could keep tabs on him. He added the boy was welcome at any time. Wyatt’s mother engulfed Crowley in the biggest hug imaginable. She whispered, “Thank you for helping my son,” in his ear. The demon gave her a reassuring nod and patted Wyatt on the back before leaving. The young man wrapped himself around the demon, and Crowley happily hugged him back. 

It was late when Crowley made it back to the shop. Wyatt’s empty mug and untouched muffin had remained in their places. He cleared the table and was closing up shop when Aziraphale came downstairs. “Crowley, is that you?”

“Yes, Angel. Just, cleaning up.” Aziraphale made his way into dark shop, his halo illuminating the way. 

“You’re back late. Everything ok?”

Crowley looked up at the angel, whom he loved deeply, and now felt a sense of guilt towards. “Yeah, Angel. Everything’s fine. We...we need to talk, though.” Aziraphale nodded and sat at the bar. Crowley handed him a fresh cup of cocoa and took a deep breath. He readied himself for a difficult conversation. “You see, years ago, I…” 

**Author's Note:**

> For those in need:  
24 hour suicide hotline- USA  
1-800-273-8255
> 
> You are not alone. You are never alone.  
-ou.ur


End file.
